Don't Despair
by Lock Owl
Summary: Vignette. Legolas offers Aragorn some words of encouragement.


For my friend. Remember, do not despair.  
  
"One death is a tragedy, a million is a statistic."  
  
--Joseph Stalin  
  
"Philosophers have interpreted the world in many ways. The point, however, is to change it."  
  
--On the tomb of Karl Marx  
  
Disclaimer: If you recognize any characters and places, they are not mine.  
  
This story could be book verse or movie verse, I had not really either in mind when I wrote it. It is not meant to be slash, either, just platonic friendship.  
  
*****  
  
The sun sunk low to the horizon, a few last rays stretching their fingertips to the heavens in a final, futile attempt at glory. The western sky was alight with soft blues, fading from the softest of hues to a deep, nearly black on the eastern horizon. A few clouds drifted, here and there, darker, richer tones than their backdrop of an eternal oblivion.  
  
A figure stood out against this sunset, a figure bent as if with toil and age, dark hair falling to cover the face and identity of the figure. It seemed a general consensus that whomever this lone one was wished to be left alone, for he had much to think of and much to meditate on. He (or, to be equal, she) sighed, and lowered themselves to sit on the edge of the wall, still gazing out at the sunset.  
  
Elessar wondered if he should have come here at all. He could well recall a time when the very conception of Mordor was an illusion, a thing of his brothers' stories. Bedtime stories, he reflected with a wry grin the childhood nightmares he had suffered. Orcs and wargs had been things for games of make-believe back in those days.  
  
Deep, hidden well away, inside of him, Elessar knew he was still that boy. Orcs and wargs still scared him stiff to think about in the dead of night, yet during the day he could kill them without batting an eye. The daytime warrior retired now for the night, and the little boy cringed in fear. Something stirred in Elessar's chest as he gazed to the hills, where the last rays of sunlight had disappeared. He wondered if, and feared that, this would be his last sunset. Even more he feared that this would be the last sunset ever seen by any in Middle-earth.  
  
For that was why he was fighting. That was the reason he would take lead of an army, fight as a soldier among strangers and kin alike. It was not, as some men whispered of the mysterious gladiator, for love. The reason was not for family; what ever family he had ever known was dead or sailing for the Undying Lands. Indeed, the reason he bloodied his sword was for the others in Middle-earth, those who would or could not fight, and those who would yet come in to the world--if he succeeded.  
  
Was he doing any good? Elessar sighed again, his shoulders slumping further, his hands dangling like gloves. Was he merely another body, another corpse, a mere statistic? Was he just a number? Even if he did not die in battle, would anything he did count? Would he live only to be a servant of the Dark Lord, a slave to an empire of evil? As the sky grew darker, these things seemed somehow inevitable, the downfall and destruction of all that was good a looming truth of the future.  
  
Elessar let his thoughts wander to Frodo and Samwise, patrons of an unknown fate, to Merry and Pippin; for though Gandalf assured him of their safety, he could not bring himself to stop wondering where they were, and how they fared. If only he had done something more, something for Boromir, perhaps, who did not need to die. Everything could have been so different. . .  
  
Could have, would have, but it is not, so why suffer yourself all the more that you did not make it so? Elessar inquired of himself. He had done what he could, and the best he could. Now all there was left to do was face forward with courage and hope. . .and forget the stirring of self-doubt in his chest. Hanging his head Elessar contemplated the ground, littered no longer with bodies yet for ever stained with blood. It was a deadly plunge he toyed with in seating himself along the wall; he not looking for the plunge, just refusing to ignore it.  
  
"It is well that you came," a lyrical voice said, as someone sat almost soundlessly beside Elessar. "Do not despair."  
  
"Thank you, my friend," Elessar replied, yet tears sprang to his eyes. How Legolas had known his thoughts was beyond him, but he needed not ask. The Elf seemed to know the inner-workings of every mind he encountered, mortal or immortal. Now salty droplet of water sparkled in the starlight, slipping across Elessar's face, forming small paths of cleanliness in a haven for dirt and blood.  
  
"They will need a leader, Aragorn, before the end. This war will make heroes, heroes of Men, and you will be among them."  
  
"And if we lose this battle, or the next? If the worlds of Men, Elves, and Halflings are to fall?" Elessar asked, a tinge of prophesied doom to his voice.  
  
"They will not fall," Legolas replied, simple as that, his tone gentle yet leaving no room for argument. "Would you let it? If, in the end, it came down to you, Aragorn, would you see all that is good be burned in the fires of evil? I trust that you would not, and those that would follow you do, as well. They would follow you to their dooms, if you led them thusly." For many moments more the two sat side by side, watching the moon rise and the stars come out. Then Legolas stood, stretching out his tensed muscles.  
  
"Hey--" Elessar said, then he broke off, fearing to say more. It took him a moment to choke out the words. "Thank you." In response Legolas clapped his hand on Elessar's shoulder, offering comfort and reassurance beyond words.  
  
"Take some rest, before the night is out," Legolas warned.  
  
"Yes, Ada," Elessar teased, and the two friends laughed for a moment. Legolas lifted his hand, turning now to leave. "Wait, I will go with you. After all, a tired soldier is a dead soldier."  
  
"That's the spirit," Legolas exclaimed jovially yet with incredibly falsehood, putting his arm around Aragorn's shoulders as the two headed towards blissful sleep, both remembering the time when Legolas told a practically infantile young Estel about a group of large spiders that had attacked in Mirkwood. . .  
  
*****  
  
Author's note: I considered writing this in verse, but then thought better of it. It is for my friend, lest she ever lose sight of hope in the darkness. 


End file.
